The First Lady's Detail
by APat96
Summary: Annabeth Masterson, formerly Chase, is the President's wife, unhappy in every aspect. Meanwhile, Percy Jackson, the tall, handsome Secret Serviceman assigned to her detail brings with him mystery, laughter, and unforgettable green eyes.
1. Chapter 1

_"And now, the man of the hour and his wife; President and Mrs. Julian Masterson!" _

Taking their cue, the couple began their descent down the staircase, slowly, surely, with fake, white, smiles posted on their faces. She, wearing a white ball gown, with ivory lace that crept up her neckline, with innocent, conservative pearls draped around her neck. He, with a crisp, clean black tux, that thick head of reddish blond hair of his combed and slicked back. The two, as always, looked calm, collected, tan and beautiful. Just as any successful political couple should. Their eyes, gray and blue, respectively, scanned the crowd with feigned interest.

Parting ways at the end of the staircase, the two began the long line of outstretched hands, shaking, welcoming, greeting with smiles. From various directions, their names were called, signaling their attention to the lens of a photographer's camera for a picture.

"Hey, Annabeth!" Emily, the new first lady's sister-in-law, called, smiling broadly. "Good work, kid!"

"Yes, we're so excited to have won the presidency. Thank you for coming." Annabeth said in a shallow, breathy voice, not seeming to recognize her sister-in-law. It was as if she were in a daze. Tonight, a night she had loathed for weeks, she was tired, in mind and body. Having just given birth to her second child, a difficulty in itself, she had struggled to regain her lithe figure. Struggled to maintain a happy face, struggled to smile for the cameras. And so, tonight, Annabeth Masterson, formerly known as Annabeth Chase, was removed from the situation, removed from life itself.

"What the hell's up with her?" Emily scowled, turning to her husband, Bill, the president's brother. He simply shrugged.

Annabeth had taken a high dose of painkillers that evening. The dose had been so high; some might say it was downright risky, given her unstable health. What did they care, though? They only wanted a gorgeous woman to tell everyone what to wear, what to eat, and where to go on vacation. They didn't want personality. Most definitely not. And certainly not that husband of hers, either.

No, Julian loved her, or at least claimed to. That wasn't to be argued about. But he was just so involved with himself. So…so, inconsiderate of others. Unless, of course, he was trying to get either their vote or their panties. In that case, he cared a whole damn lot.

Julian wanted a perfect, beautiful woman that would support his career, his philandering, his way on life. Julian wanted children, well behaved and handsome. Julian wanted perfection, and nothing less. And, it just so happens, that perfection was what he got.

So, yes, Annabeth worked her ass of in the gym to lose the baby weight, gave herself a healthy dose of painkillers, pulled her unruly blonde curls into the perfect bouffant, put on the perfect dress, and rehearsed her perfect manners. If he wanted perfection, he would get it, and then some.

Annabeth sat through the speeches, clapping when appropriate, smiling when appropriate, and keeping her legs crossed at the ankle the entire time. All the while, though, wondering how, at the ripe old age of 31, she had come to lose her wildness, her personality, her youth, and the qualities that had made her unique. Alas, those questions would have to remain unanswered. She was doing all of this for Julian. Of course she was. Why else? She loved him.

She loved Julian. He was the father of their children. He was the man that could change the country. He was the man that told her he loved her when he got home at night. He was the man that tucked their kids in at night, telling them homemade bedtime stories. He was everything to her, much as she loathed to admit it. He was the earth, the moon, the sun, all the stars in the sky. He was everything.

So she tolerated it. She did. She stuck through it with him, allowing his roving eye to wander. Because she relied on him. And she hated it.

Finally, the night of the inauguration, when the speeches had been made, the toasts had been given, the hands shook and the balls danced, her body surrendered to the overwhelming exhaustion.

She stood from the elegantly silk-draped chair, clutching the arm of a bystander delicately. She nodded as thanks, keeping her head high, her eyes sharp as she maneuvered the crowd to find Julian.

And, there he was, surrounded b a group of political big wigs, enchanting them with humor and wit. He always did. Carefully, she glided up to the group, maintaining a position on the outside, next to her husband.

"Ah, my lovely wife, Annabeth! I've got some friends here that would love to meet you!" He spoke brightly, his attention suddenly focused on her. His eyes shone with pride, though she knew it had to be manufactured.

"Actually, Julian, I believe I have a headache. I think the excitement of the day is getting to me. Would you mind if I were to return home for some rest? I could check up on the children, and…" She rambled, hoping that it would come across as charming. Just as she had hoped, the other men chuckled to themselves, patting themselves on the back for being superior to women, who, in their world, tired easily and were of use only for sex and for meals.

"Ah, you sure about that, Annabeth?" Julian said, his proud smile instantly morphing into a tight, fake one. "You're going to miss quite the ball. Why don't you stay here and find Emily? The two of you love to chatter!"

"Well, Julian, I really am very tired." Annabeth said, hoping her requests would finally be granted. Julian gave a hesitant, hopeless look around the group.

"Sure, sure." He said finally, clearing his throat nervously. "You can go check on the new baby, and rest to your heart's content. I'd rather you be happy and healthy!" He exclaimed, though Annabeth could smell the fake sincerity from a mile away.

"Thank you, Julian, I'm so sorry to leave so abruptly. I shall be here in spirit!" She said pleasantly as she glided away, towards the door.

"Would you care for me to escort you to your car?"

"No, no, I'd much rather you stay here and continue your discussion. Again, my apologies." She stumbled, pasting a smile on her face as she moved away.

''_I shall be here in spirit?'_ What in Hades was I thinking? I've become nothing more than some sappy political wife!' She thought angrily to herself as she walked away. The crowd parted to let her through, some snapping pictures as they did. Annabeth shoved a fake smile on her face.

A Secret Serviceman handed her coat to her as he pulled open the heavy Oak doors, wishing her a happy evening as he did so.

On the patio outside, snow had just begun to fall, and Annabeth pulled the wool around her, dashing to the curb, where a presidential black limo idled. When she reached it, another Secret Serviceman opened the door for her, helping her inside the warm car.

She leaned back against the black leather, sighing gratefully as the car pulled away from the curb. She was allowed a moment's silence before words shattered the quiet.

"Hello, First Lady Masterson." A hand came reaching back from the front seat to shake hands. "I've just been assigned to your detail."

"Oh, well, nice to meet you." Annabeth answered, shaking the hand politely. "Well, you know who I am. May I have your name, please?"

A face appeared in the divider, a man, wearing an earpiece, a fancy watch, and a black suit to match his dark hair. He had tan skin, especially for the month of January, and, to top it all of, green, piercing eyes. From the neck up, alone, he was already handsomer than Julian.

"Jackson. Percy, if you'd like." He answered, giving her a polite smile.

"Well, Percy Jackson," Annabeth said, leaning back against the seat and smirking slightly "I shall call you 'Mr. Jackson'."


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr. Jackson, when is my appointment with the Women's Advocacy Group?" Annabeth asked, dabbing her face lightly as she put on makeup. She was sitting at the vanity in her suite, the mirror reflecting back on her, and the two agents standing behind her. A navy morning suit shone back at her, her hair pulled up in an elegant bun.

"Well, ma'am, I believe it starts in about five minutes." Mr. Jackson replied calmly, stepping forward as he spoke and stepping back when he was done.

"Five minutes?" Annabeth cried, swiveling back around. "Are you sure?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good gracious! I'm going to be late!" she exclaimed, somewhat angrily, standing up and rushing around the room to grab various articles of clothing.

"Please, ma'am, allow me." Mr. Jackson said calmly, stepping forward and assisting her in bundling up everything she needed.

"From now on, Mr. Jackson," Annabeth said finally, after a moment of silence, "You are to alert me exactly half an hour prior to any and _all_ appointments." Her small frame shook with anger; though it appeared that Mr. Jackson could see right through it. "I will _not_ be late to important meetings due to your inability to tell time!"

Annabeth was ashamed to be angry. She had no reason to be mad at Mr. Jackson. She was really madder at herself, to be honest. Mad that she had overslept, mad that she hadn't seen her children in over a day, mad that she had found a set of panties that did not belong to her in her husband's bed. And this anger, this frustration, this exhaustion managed to manifest itself in snapping at Mr. Jackson.

She stood there, for a moment, her eyes wide. She feared this newer, angrier version of herself. She had never been like this. Annabeth had always prided herself on being calm and collected, 24/7. Then, just as the anger had melted to shame, and the shame to fear, so too, did the fear, giving way to tears, flowing freely down her face.

Mr. Jackson cleared his throat, nodding his head and stepping back swiftly. "Yes ma'am. Won't happen again."

But Annabeth sank to the floor, like a petulant child, holding her hands over her eyes, sobbing hysterically. She was no better than her three year old, at this point. Hades, even her three year old didn't act so hysterically. Annabeth just sat, letting her tears flow freely, scrunched up in a ball on the parquet floor, either not knowing or not caring that the men stood against the wall, silent, stoic. What was _wrong_ with her?

"Mr. Jackson." Annabeth said suddenly, pulling herself together and standing up, taking a deep breath and rolling her shoulders back.

"Yes ma'am." He said, stepping forward once more.

"Please, could you call down to my secretary, Ms. Linden, and tell her that I am feeling unwell and shall have to reschedule my appointments for the morning?"

"Yes ma'am." He nodded, stepping back, excusing himself, and whipping out a sleek black phone as he stepped from the room.

Annabeth heaved a sigh, though not of relief, and unpinned her hair, taking a damp cloth and removing her makeup. Then she remembered the other agent.

"You…you may excuse yourself as well, Mr...Mr…"

"Nesmith, ma'am."

"Of course. Mr. Nesmith, you may excuse yourself, as well."

"Yes ma'am." He nodded, slipping out the heavy wooden door.

Annabeth smiled slightly, walking back to her closet and stripping herself of her itchy navy suit. In its place, she threw on a sweatshirt, and, underneath it, a pair of linen shorts, airy and comfortable as could be. Then, she left the closet, crossing the main sitting room of the suite to get to her personal bedroom.

In the bedroom, teal, satin wallpaper, which, she had been told, was a remnant of Jackie Kennedy's restoration of the Whitehouse, covered the walls. Thick, Mahogany furniture was placed around the room, and, in the center of it all, a thick, white linen covered bed, worthy of a king. Annabeth almost felt badly about climbing back into bed after it had been made. Almost.

So she crossed the room to get to the bed, peeling back the thick, down comforter, and, subsequently, each white, pressed sheet. She felt giddy, as if she were an archeologist, peeling back the layers of the earth to get to the prized fossil.

Then, just as she was about to climb in and cocoon herself in the blankets, she heard a knock on the heavy door. Heaving a sigh, she left the bedroom, crossing back over the sitting room to the main doorway.

"Yes?" She answered, opening to door a crack. She was greeted with Mr. Jackson's face, handsome as ever. She promptly scolded herself for thinking such thoughts.

"Ma'am, I've called down to Ms. Linden, and she's rescheduled the morning appointments. Shall I have a word with her regarding the afternoon appointments?"

"No, no, I should be feeling much better by then." She answered with a grateful smile. "And…thank you, very much, for…doing that for me."

"My pleasure, ma'am." He nodded, turning to go.

"Oh, and Mr. Jackson?" Annabeth said quickly, stopping him in his tracks.

"Yes ma'am?" He asked, turning around.

"I shall expect your utmost confidentiality regarding this morning's events."

"Yes—"

"And that partner of yours, too." Annabeth said quickly, cutting him off. "I do value my privacy. Strict confidentiality is what I ask of you."

"Of course, ma'am." He said, nodding as he began to back away. He smirked, slightly, a handsome little smile. Annabeth once again scolded herself. "I'd give you nothing less."

"Thank you, Mr. Jackson." She said again, closing the door and crossing back to her bedroom, slipping into bed and wrapping herself up tightly.

She _needed_ sleep. Her eyes yearned for it, burning the heat of a thousand flames. Her limbs begged for it, screaming up at her through the aches and pains that plagued her. Her mind, as shown earlier, _clearly_ needed it, after _that_ little meltdown. She welcomed sleep, begged for it, yearned for it, awaited it.

And, yet, laying there, in bed, trying to fall asleep, thoughts beguiled her mind, dancing in and out of her ears, tricking her brain into staying awake. Her thoughts turned to green eyes, a small, smirk of a smile, a crisp, clean, black suit. Her thoughts turned to Percy Jackson.


	3. Chapter 3

"There you are, ma'am." Mr. Jackson said, nodding as he helped Annabeth into the limo. Today, she wore a simple blue dress, sensible and fashionable. Her blond hair had been straightened, and was then pinned back with a pearl barrette. She had rebounded from her near downfall, and she couldn't have felt better.

"Thank you, Mr. Jackson." She replied, grinning.

"Good mood, ma'am?" He smiled as he got in the front seat, buckling up.

"Very."

"Would you mind if I asked why?"

"Oh, just everything!"

"Everything, now?" He chuckled.

"Oh, yes. I saw Jack today, and his cold as cleared up. He's grown so much!"

"And Cate?"

"Oh, you should see some of the things she drawing in day care! Worthy of the Met!"

"Great to hear that!" He chuckled again. She laughed along with him, happy that she had spent time with her children, happy that Julian had had dinner with her last night and had promised to reform, happy that things were finally working out.

She stayed silent, for a moment, just staring out the window and wondering how she had managed to go from such a low to such a high so quickly. It should be impossible, right? Shouldn't there be something to stand in her way? Shouldn't there be something to bring it all crashing down? There had to be.

As a pit formed in her stomach, thinking of this, she tried to push away those thoughts. These thoughts were the only things on her mind these days, though. That, or her secret serviceman's sparkling eyes and white grin.

Again, though, she had to force away the pit in her stomach, shove those inappropriate thoughts somewhere else. Julian had just promised his faith to her—why couldn't she promise it back?

It wasn't like she had cheated, or anything. Besides, even if she had, Julian's record was enough to make any fling pale by comparison. Ten times over.

And now she was mad. Her feelings, her emotions flinging up and down like some pinball gone berserk. She felt the pit in her stomach harden.

_No_. She could not go back. She could not go back to the days of depression. She could not break down like that again. If she did, it would be all over. It would be all over.

Then, just then, the limo came to a stop, in front of the white-faced mansion Emily and Billy called home. Redwood Manor, they called it. Instantly, she was met with the hordes of children. Six of them, in total. All of who carried some various object, whether it be an animal or a piece of sport's equipment. Then, from the crowd of them all, came, jogging, Emily.

Her short brown hair fashionably rumpled, her brown eyes bright, she grinned, beckoning Annabeth into the mansion with the wave of a fabulously toned, tanned arm. It pained her to think of it, but Annabeth was jealous.

She didn't want to be. After all, her beauty was, in her opinion, far greater than Emily's. But that just made her sound vain. And she detested sounding vain.

But, there it was, plain as day. Jealousy. She was jealous of Emily's many children, when she had had difficulty in having just two. She was jealous that Billy actually slept in his own bed, most nights, and that he was more sensitive. She was jealous that Emily had the time and the effort to pursue her interests, that she was bright, and bubbly, that she was just…Emily. And Annabeth knew that, no matter how much beauty she had going over Emily, that, if she didn't have the energy, nothing would matter.

But, once again, Annabeth pushed those thoughts aside, and, flanked by Mr. Jackson and Mr. Nesmith, she made her way into the house, walking through its bright, open hallways.

"Hiya, kiddo." Emily grinning, plopping down in an armchair and tugging at her crewneck sweatshirt, the navy one that she had paired with short athletic shorts.

"Hello, Emily." Annabeth said, carefully sitting down in a chair of her own.

"How's Jules been?"

"He's been…well." Annabeth said, smiling lightly. "You know, we had quite the conversation last night."

"Hold that thought—you want something to drink?" Emily asked, rising.

"No, no I'm fine, but—"

"Well, I'm gonna go get us a pitcher of lemonade. Can't have to much lemonade, can ya?"

"Well, Emily, I really do need to talk to you—"

"I'll be right back, kiddo." Emily exclaimed, springing from the room in the general direction of the kitchen, leaving Annabeth alone with the two men.

"My goodness!" Annabeth exclaimed, groaning. "That woman _cannot_ deal with matters when it comes to Masterson men. She just does _not_ want to hear it!" She said, turning around to lament to the men.

"It's as if she thinks if she can't hear it, see it, or feel it, it doesn't _exist!"_ She exclaimed once more, throwing her hands up in disgust.

"Well, here's some lemonade." Emily grinned, reappearing with a pitcher and two glasses.

"Actually, Emily, I do believe I am late for an appointment." Annabeth said, smiling an apology and rising. "I really must be going."

"But—but you just got here!" Emily protested, setting the pitcher and glasses down on the coffee table.

"Yes, but I really am—"

"Billy's going to be so sad he missed you!"

"Well, you can tell him to call me later, I'll be back at the Whitehouse around—"

"No, really you've gotta stay!" Emily exclaimed once more, crossing the room and putting a hand tightly around Annabeth's upper arm.

"Emily," Annabeth said, as if admonishing her, "I am going. That is final. I will call you later." She said in short, clipped sentences, removing Emily's hand.

She stormed through the house to the front door, her secret servicemen in her wake, attempting to catch up and get in front of her. Finally, Mr. Jackson jogged ahead, able to open the door for the limo just in time for her to slide herself in with a huff. Soon enough, the car sped out of the long driveway, heading back the way they came.

Annabeth was silent for most of the ride, sitting very still, with her eyes closed, as if in a deep thought. She repeated a mantra of sorts through her head, reminding herself that things were getting better. In fact, she decided to surprise Julian for a special lunch together. Wouldn't that be just the thing to cheer herself up? Lunch with her husband? She certainly thought so.

When the car pulled up to the curb, and Mr. Jackson assisted her in getting out and walking up the marble stairs, she walked quickly to Julian's office, a smile pasted on her face, the possibilities of the afternoon running through her head. Would they have lunch and pleasant conversation? Would he be delighted with her spontaneity? Would they make love? Well, he _did_ have a country to run. Perhaps she would save that for tonight.

"Hello, Mrs. Lincoln." Annabeth said as she breezed past the secretary's desk on her way to the oval office. The middle aged woman looked up suddenly, her chocolate colored eyes wide. In fear? In surprise? No matter.

"Mrs. Masterson, I don't think—"

But Annabeth had already opened the heavy wooden doors. She had already stepped in, standing in the oval office with her best smile on, her best dress, her best appearance.

And so she stood there, grinning like an idiot, while her husband quickly buttoned his pants, buckling the belt with haste. She stood there, while a young intern pulled up her black lacy panties, her cheeks reddening with every passing second. She stood there, grinning like an idiot, while the intern made a break for the door. Annabeth grabbed her by the arm just before she slipped out.

"What's your name?" She asked, still slightly dazed.

"Uh…uh, T—Tracy, m—ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, Tracy." Annabeth smiled warmly, releasing the girl's arm. She watched as the girl fled. Then, she waited a moment, staring at her husband, who stood there, looking like a little boy that had just gotten caught sneaking a candy bar.

"Annabeth, honey…" He tried, stepping forward slightly. And that was _her_ turn to flee.

She sprinted down the hallway, past a startled Mrs. Lincoln, past various personnel, past even her own servicemen.

"Don't you _dare_ follow me." She called to Mr. Jackson, as he began to trail her. He stopped dead in his tracks.

Annabeth ran down several corridors, to the point where she was lost in the maze of a building, lost in one of the various hidden staircases. The heel from her shoe broke off, sending her tumbling down a few stairs. Then the tears came, fast and hot, pouring down her face. She was ashamed of these tears. Ashamed for believing her husband. Ashamed for the blood that now oozed down her forearm. And so she cried. And cried. And cried. It was all she could do.

"Let me help you with that." Came a voice, strong and thick. "Are you alright?" It was Mr. Jackson, who had followed her there, despite her pleas. He was the one who was holding a handkerchief to her wound. He was the one with the furrowed brow, fussing over her hurt arm as if she were a child. Oh, how his green eyes shone with concern.

"Mr. Jackson—"

"Ma'am, this looks deep, let me help you to the staff doctor."

"Mr. Jackson—"

"Really, ma'am, you may need stitches."

_"Mr. Jackson!"_ She cried one last time, this time with urgency. He looked up this time, staring straight into her eyes.

"Yes, m—" He began to ask. Annabeth cut him off, however. She lunged forward, pressing her lips against his with urgency. Slowly, though, his rigid lips softened, parting and deepening to kiss. His hand came to her face, caressing her skin with calloused fingers.

They pulled back, after a moment, gasping for air, blinking, wide eyed at each other, unknowing of how to proceed. And so they kissed again.


	4. Chapter 4

"Mrs. Masterson." A voice called. But she was still in a daze, her gray eyes had glossed over, her skin had paled, and crimson blood still oozed down her arm. She knew that voice, though. She had come to know the dips and crests of its tone. She had fallen victim to that voice only moments ago.

"Mrs. Masterson." He said again. "Ma'am, are you alright?"

"Yes, Mr. Jackson, I'm fine." She said after a moment, rising from her perch on the stairs and, using his shoulder as support, stepping around him and exiting the stairwell.

She clacked away, down the hall, still in a daze. She stumbled on her broken heels, and, after a moment, removed her shoes, throwing them to the side of the hallway.

Annabeth turned down several hallways. Somehow, some part of her brain knew where she was going, and knew how to get there. And so she surrendered herself to this part of her brain, allowing her to lose herself in her thoughts. She hoped Mr. Jackson would not follow her. And he didn't.

Seconds later, the turn she had taken left her standing in front of her secretary's desk. Annabeth almost laughed, thinking about how she must have looked. Ruined mascara made tracks down her face, her hairdo had been destroyed, and she was barefoot. Her feet sat, sinking into the plush carpet, angry red blisters covering her heels and her outer toes. Not to mention her arm was slowly dripping blood onto the white carpet. It would have to be cleaned.

"Mrs. Masterson!" Ms. Linden cried, jumping from her desk and speeding over to the First Lady. "My goodness, what happened to you? Are you alright?"

"Yes, Ms. Linden, I'm fine." She said, still in a daze. She stared at the wall before her, level with her eyes, and swayed back and forth uneasily on her heels. Then, she lurched forward and threw up into the wastebasket.

"Mrs. Masterson!" Ms. Linden cried again, rushing forward to support the woman. "Are you ill? Shall I call down to the staff doctor?"

"I'm feeling much better now. I think I'll go change into something more comfortable, and then I'll have a visit with the doctor."

"Uh, ma'am, are you sure you're in the condition to do so?"

"Yes, Patricia!" Annabeth snapped, then quickly regained her composure. "Ms. Linden, I'm fine. I really am." Then she glanced at the bloody stain on the carpet and at the wastebasket. "Call the janitor up and have him come take care of this mess."

"Y-yes ma'am." Ms. Linden said, reaching for the phone as the First Lady walked away, still shoeless.

Annabeth turned the corner to return to her suite. The two men guarded the heavy wooden door, once again. Mr. Jackson stood in his usual place, on the left. His suit was, once more, crisp and black, devoid of any sign of what had happened earlier. The only telltale giveaway was the small, near microscopic drop of blood on her cuff. She wished she could have recovered so well.

He opened the door with a nod, and Annabeth was admitted to her room, where, upon changing into a sweatshirt and shorts, she wrapped a small towel around her arm. She slipped from the room once more to dismiss the men. The doctor, a jolly old man, came calling five minutes later, having been alerted by the secretary. He toted an old-fashioned black leather doctor's bag and kindly requested her to have a seat, so that he could examine her arm.

"The stairs, you say?" He asked, after she had told her story. "Why the devil were you on the service stairs?"

"I was…exploring." She explained, stumbling slightly. "You know, I still haven't seen all of this place. I figured I'd find out where everything is." This provided sufficient for the doctor, and he nodded.

"Alright. Your arm is all sewn up, ma'am." The doctor announced, standing and gathering his materials.

"Excellent." She thanked him, standing as well to see him out. "Thank you so much."

"My pleasure." He nodded, slipping out the door. "I do advise you, however, to stay away from stairs for a while."

"I will." She laughed, thanking him once more and closing the door behind him. Then, returning to the sitting area, she slumped into a love seat, throwing her head back.

All at once, she was once again reminded of her childhood days spent laying upside down with her hair falling to gravity's will. She used to laugh in those days. Now, though, not so much. What did she have now? What was there to feel good about? To laugh about? Not much.

Let's see: her husband was a dirty, cheating bastard, her sister-in-law refused to let her vent, she was a complete and utter mess, really, she could go on for days. Most importantly, though, she feared of becoming nothing more than another dirty, cheating bastard in the Whitehouse. She feared of her feelings for Mr. Jackson.

He cared for her. Then again, that was his _job_. He had kissed her. Then again, she had started it. He was gorgeous. Then again, well, actually, that part wasn't debatable. He really was quite handsome. No, she thought, as a knock came on the door. The problem wasn't that he wasn't handsome enough, or caring enough. The problem lay on her finger, shining gold in the light. She was married. And kissing Mr. Jackson was a sin.

_"Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again!" _Annabeth recited from _Romeo and Juliet_ as she stood, crossing back over to the door to answer the knock. She pulled the heavy door open, still in mid thought.

_"You kiss by th' book."_ Said Mr. Jackson, who stood there with an amused smile on his face. "You're reciting Romeo's line."

"Well…you—you just recited Juliet's!" Annabeth stammered, her eyes narrowing.

"I concede."

"Well? Why are you here?" Annabeth demanded, quickly throwing on a serious face. She immediately knew she had come across as bossy, and brought it down a level, cringing. "You, you, ah—know _Romeo and Juliet_."

"Yes ma'am. I'm quite a fan of Shakespeare."

"No kidding." She said, leaning her thin body against the doorframe. She stared at his smooth face, clear of stubble. She admired his strong jaw. She loved his green eyes. These were bad thoughts. These were thoughts that paved the way for divorce. But this time, Annabeth didn't push them from her head.

"Yes, and ma'am—I'm here because the department wants to do an investigation into your accident this afternoon, and they'd like me to give you the information so you could call and give a statement, and—"

She cut him off, though, lunging for her face and kissing him passionately. And he kissed back almost immediately. After a moment, she pulled back, tugging on his jacket and leading him into the room. He followed after her, nipping at her neck the whole way.

Annabeth lay back on the bed, pulling Mr. Jackson along with her. She kissed his neck while he delicately removed her clothing, minding her bandaged arm. He kissed her up and down her body, once they were nude, and her thoughts were of nothing other than that very moment while they made love.

Afterwards, while Mr. Jackson went to the bathroom to shower, Annabeth lay in her torn bed, panting, still overcome with desire. The encounter had been better than anything Julian had had to offer her. Perhaps it was because, this time, she truly, deeply yearned for it.

She sat up upon hearing the vibrations of a phone. Her cellphone had been turned off long ago. It could only have been Mr. Jackson's. She giggled, flipping the blanket off of her naked body as she crawled around on all fours, searching for his phone. After a short amount of time spent searching, she uncovered the black sleek phone, flipping it open to read the caller ID.

_Rachel._

Panicking, Annabeth answered the call, exhaling a 'hello' into the phone.

"Percy, baby—don't talk." The Rachel giggled into the phone, putting on a naughty, breathy voice. Annabeth felt a pit form in her stomach. "I've got the _best_ night planned out for our anniversary tonight. Pick up some champagne before you come home. Oh, yeah, and you should hydrate." She exhaled before giggling and hanging up. Annabeth snapped the phone shut, dropping it to the bed.

When Mr. Jackson exited the bathroom, his hair wet and slick, a white towel wrapped carelessly around his waist, Annabeth was still sitting on the bed in shock. She was on her knees, sitting back, naked with her hands folded delicately in her lap.

"You alright?" He asked, sidling up to her and kissing her on the cheek.

She was quiet for a moment. What could she do? She couldn't call him out on it. After all, she had answered his phone. Not to mention, she also wasn't single. She couldn't feel hurt. She couldn't do much of anything. She had no reason to. So why did she feel like a piano had just fallen on her chest? Why did she feel so broken?

"I think you should go now." She said quietly, looking down at her hands. She stayed that way until he had collected his clothes, thrown them on quickly, and left the room. When she heard the door slam, she fell back on the bed, neither crying nor emitting any noise.

_"Percy." _She whispered into the vast area of her suite. She relished his name, loved the way it turned over her tongue. Almost as if it were a sweet, and she were a small child. _"Percy."_


	5. Chapter 5

"Hello, Mrs. Masterson." The doctor said, sliding onto his wheeled stool and pulling up to Annabeth's knees. "How are we today?"

"Just splendid." She answered, smoothing out her blue dress and holding out her arm for him.

"Let's see." He said, adjusting his glasses over his wide nose as he leaned in, examining her stitches. "Your arm seems to have healed up nicely." He murmured, lifting his head to give her a smile.

"Excellent!" She exclaimed gladly, smiling back. "So you'll be taking the stitches off today?"

"Yes indeedy dandy." He laughed, rolling over to the counter to grab a pair of surgical scissors. "Just hold still for a moment, and we'll get them out in a jiff."

Annabeth sat still while he effortlessly pulled out all twelve stitches. For an old man, he was at the top of his game, it seemed. His hands didn't shake, his eyes were clear and focused, and he was sharp and bright. His position in the Whitehouse seemed fitting.

"Alrighty, then." He pulled his face away at last, examining the faint pink scar that lay just past her wrist. "I can give you some scar cream, dear, and that should clear right up. Won't even notice it!" He wheeled back to the counter, placing the scissors on a sterile mat and picking up a tube of cream.

"Oh, an before I forget, I'd like to run a quick blood test. I gave you the tetanus vaccine as a precautionary measure when I gave you the stitches, but I'd like to just test to make sure you didn't pick anything up on those stairs. Would you mind?"

"Oh, sure, not a problem." Annabeth replied, waving her hand in a nonchalant manner. As if she had blood tests every day. "Better to be safe than sorry, right?"

"Exactly." The doctor agreed, wheeling, once more, over to his counter and preparing the necessary instruments. Then, with one quick prick, and a piece of taped gauze later, she was out of there, a cardigan pulled down over her arm, a smile pasted on her face.

She was feeling good. She knew her hair was perfectly coiffed, she knew her makeup was perfectly applied, she knew she was _back_. She had even managed to avoid Julian for a good two weeks, if you could imagine.

Sure, it hadn't been easy. There had been dinners Annabeth had had to decline from attending. There had been parties she had rejected. She had declined Washington's elite, instead opting for her plasma screen TV, all the tea in China, and, best of all: solidarity. And those three things, in any way, shape, or form, were better than all the caviar and bubbly in the world. Besides, tea was just about the only thing she could keep down, these days.

The stress was really getting to her, and she knew it. But her mind was dealing with it, she liked to believe, with the inability to eat anything. Combat fatigue, of sorts. It wasn't healthy, but, on the other hand, she had begun to adapt to this new life. If being sick was the only way to deal with constant stress successfully, then bring it on.

Now, though, a different kind of stress plagued her. She was being forced to see Julian. They had to: he was the president and he requested it. She couldn't say no, right? That, or she had completely lost her mind, and was degrading herself by staying in a loveless marriage. Take your pick.

She tried to justify her actions. She tried to see reason, even if it made her stomach act up again. Even if it made her chest ache.

She tried to see the good things: the way he smiled proudly at her, when no one else was around to see it. The way he wrestled with their kids, never once stopping to gripe about his bad back. The way he caressed her belly when she had been pregnant. The way he wrapped his arms around her when he first stepped off the airplane after a trip. The way he chewed the end of his cigar when he was thinking about what to say next. The way he plied her with books; _great_ books, that he knew she would like and devour. The way he was her _husband_.

Yes, he _was _her husband. Still was. And she loved all those things about him. So what if he was fake sometimes? So what if he was condescending to her sometimes? Maybe she was the same way. She could forget all that, if he truly loved her.

But then there was the infidelity. The cheating. The scandals that had yet to become scandals. Time bombs, just ticking away with every fuck. What about that?

If he _truly_ loved her, then wouldn't he have been true to her? Only her? Did he somehow see sex as an act outside of marriage? Was it completely different, and she was just left in the dark? If he _truly_ loved her, why would he do something so…so monstrous?

Then again, why would she? She had slept with someone else, just like he had. Worse, though, this man had a wife. Or a girlfriend. Or…or someone to become upset. She was no better than Tammy, or Tracy, or whomever that woman had been that day in the Oval Office. She was a no good, lying home wrecker. Besides, if _she_ truly loved Julian, then there wouldn't be any infidelity to feel nauseous about, now would there.

But, like before, Annabeth chose denial over truth. She chose to push out the thoughts that questioned her decision-making process. She chose the happier memories. The little things that added up to one great existence. She valued them over the big things that threatened to bring everything crumbling down.

So Annabeth chose to paste a smile on her face, forgetting that the last time she and Julian had had sex was almost two weeks ago. In fact, it was two nights before the Oval Office incident. No matter. If things worked well in the couple's favor, then it would only be a matter of hours. If she could keep food down long enough.

"Hello Jules." She said calmly as she breezed by the secretary's desk, pushing the wide, mahogany doors open and strutting in, nodding hello to her husband. And, apparently, his brother. "Billy." She nodded, almost confused, as she crossed the room, having a seat on the cream colored sofa.

Both men stood as she walked in, only resuming their sitting once Annabeth had sat as well. Billy reached for a leather organizer from the coffee table, unwinding the black string and pulling out several papers, handing them to Annabeth.

"What are these?"

"Well, Annabeth, the paper on the left is a divorce contract. The paper on the right is a confidentiality agreement. The paper in the middle is another contract." Billy answered, leaning forward.

"Wha—" Annabeth gaped, turning to Julian and Billy. "You, you're divorcing me?" She asked Julian.

"Well, that's one of the options." He exhaled, running his fingers through his reddish blond hair.

"What do you mean, 'options'." She asked, crinkling her nose.

"Annabeth. This is high stakes." Billy said, fixing his eyes on her. "If you divorce, then you'd end up ruining both your reputations. If you stay with him, then you've only got to maintain appearances, and then, once this is over, you can reevaluate." He explained, leaning back. "You've got to decide."

"Julian." She turned, looking helplessly to her husband. He refused to make eye contact. "Do you love me? Do _you_ want to stay married?"

"Annabeth." He said, finally, quietly. "I love our life together. I love our kids."

"Do you love me, though?" She demanded, her eyes narrowing.

"Yes." He answered, staring down at his hands. "I do."

"Then why are you acting like this? Do you really just think that I'll agree to keep quiet if you say that? I'm not _stupid_."

"I never said you were." He muttered.

"Bill, thanks for your help, but I'd like a moment alone with Julian. Do you mind stepping out for a moment?" Annabeth said, with a different, saccharine tone. Billy nodded before stepping from the room.

"I want honesty." She said, once they were alone. "There's no one else here. Just you and me. There's no one to judge or criticize you. Whatever is said here will stay between us."

"Honesty?" He asked, lifting his head up a little.

"Yes. Honesty. You owe me at least that."

"Fine." He exhaled through his nose. "I really do love you. Or, at least, I want to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked, her eyes still narrowed.

"It means that I can be in love with you if I work on it. If I _try_."

"Do or do not. There is no try." Annabeth muttered, scratching her scalp.

"Yoda. Nice." Julian gave an empty laugh.

"Well, it's fitting." She retorted. "I don't want you to try. I want you to love me. I want that to be possible."

"And I'm attempting to make that possible."

"I don't want you to have to work at it. It needs to come naturally. And the other women? That's beginning to get on my nerves."

"Oh? And your fling with the secret serviceman isn't supposed to bother me?" He asked, his eyebrows raising. Her lips clamped shut, her heart beating rapidly. Bile rose in her throat.

"How do you know about that?" She bristled.

"News gets back to me. I've got my sources." He answered ominously.

"I'm sorry. I was upset." She said finally, after a moment of silence. She wished she could take it all back. Even the great sex. It was a mistake. Just a mistake.

"It's fine." He sighed. "All that is in the past."

"Oh?"

"I'm proposing a clean slate." He said, finally looking her in the eye. "We can get a chance to fall in love again. I'll stop with the other women. You end it with the agent. We start over."

"You know, that's not the worst idea I've ever heard." She said, her expression softening.

"Your approval _was_ always the best prize." He smirked.

"I really am sorry, about my mistake. It's nice to know you've thought about things, as well."

"A man has to be wrong most of the time to be right sometimes, you know?" He mused.

"Agreed." She smiled. "So, what do you suppose we should begin with?"

"Well," He began, dragging the word out. "There's a ball at the Smithsonian Natural History, tonight. Would you mind if I escorted you there, tonight?"

"Hmm, that _is _a favorite museum of mine." She pondered, smiling. "Why not? It'll be fun." She agreed.

"Those two words are music to my ears. 'Why not'." He laughed.

"Will we be riding together?" She asked, as they both rose, walking to the door.

"I have a meeting that's going to end just before then. I'll meet you there." He promised, nodding. "I can't wait to have the most beautiful woman on my arm tonight. I'm feeling very lucky, you know."

"I know." She smiled, kissing him lightly on the cheek before exiting the door he held for her.

…..

"Excuse me, Mr. Nesmith, but could you tell me when we're going to be arriving at the Smithsonian?" Annabeth asked, leaning forward from the backseat. She was careful not to wrinkle her green silk ball gown.

"ETA is set at six minutes, excluding traffic." He answered. Mr. Jackson remained silent as he sat next to her, holding his pager tightly in his fist. Still, though, he looked rather dashing in his usual crisp, black suit.

"You know," He said very quietly, turning to her. "If you had given me a chance to explain, then—"

"I don't recall initiating conversation with you, Mr. Jackson." Annabeth cut him off. She knew she sounded like a bitch. But this needed to end. He couldn't be anything more than an agent to her. Not if she wanted to fix things with Julian. Then, suddenly, her cellphone rang. Probably just Julian checking her time.

"Hello?" She asked, flipping open the phone.

"Hello, Mrs. Masterson?" Came her doctor's voice through the speaker.

"Oh, hello, doctor." She greeted him. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, ma'am. The tetanus shot did its job." He affirmed.

"Then, may I ask why you're calling?"

"Well, ma'am, your blood came registered very high for several hormones."

"Is there a medication to fix it?" She asked, her mascara covered eyes narrowing.

"I'm not sure you'd want to _fix_ this per se." The doctor laughed.

"I'm sorry?" She asked. "I'm not sure I understand."

"You're pregnant, Mrs. Masterson." He said in a jolly tone. "About two weeks along. Not very far, but enough to register on the blood test."

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" He said. "Now, if you'd take a visit to my office tomorrow morning, I could fix you up with some prenatal vitamins, and get everything sorted out."

"Alright, then, doctor." She smiled weakly. "I've got to go now. I'll see you tomorrow." She clapped the phone shut, leaning her head back and moaning loudly.

"Mrs. Masterson, are you alright?" Mr. Jackson asked, an alarmed look covering his face.

"That was my doctor." She groaned, rubbing at her temples.

"Are you…sick?" He asked, reaching a hand out and placing it on her shoulder.

"I'm pregnant!"


	6. Chapter 6

"You're pregnant?" Mr. Jackson asked in a whisper, his eyes wide and unblinking. It was scary, almost. Annabeth paused for a moment to consider this.

"Well, according to my doctor, yes." She answered nonchalantly, straightening her position as she faced forward. She smoothed her dress once more, admiring the wine colored fabric.

"Can I speak to you—alone?" He asked, pointing towards the adjustable divider between the front and back seats.

"If you'd like." She shrugged, facing forward. Though her face spoke of cool slickness, her mind was racing, thinking of the possibilities, thinking of timing. Mr. Jackson leaned forward, pressing down on the red button. The tinted glass rose, sealing the two sections of the car.

"Is it mine?" He demanded, the very second that the glass was sealed.

"Pardon?" Annabeth asked, lifting her chin and crinkling her eyes in a way she hoped would look sincere.

"The baby." He replied bluntly. "Is the baby mine?"

"Well, given that we've never had a sexual encounter, I believe the answer to that question would be 'no', Mr. Jackson." She replied, smirking nervously. "And I _am_ a married woman."

"So you're just gonna deny everything?" He asked, throwing his hands up in frustration. "You _have_ to tell me."

"Well, you're the one who failed to mention a significant other. At least I was honest up front."

"Depending on how you look at it." He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Mr. Jackson." She said, turning, smiling politely, and clasping her hands. "It would appear that you've become too attached. Too emotional."

"In all fairness, Mrs. Masterson—"

"I could have you fired." She interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"It's true. I was in an emotional state. You took advantage of me. I could even allege—dare I say it—that you _raped_ me." She knew she sounded like a bitch now. But she had to. If he were to act like the perfect prince charming, then she would only be drawn to him more. No, she couldn't give him the opportunity to make her fall in love with someone other than her husband. She had to prevent that.

And what better way than to provoke him to be a jackass? She just had to turn him off to her, to make her nothing more than a bitch. It wasn't conventional. It wasn't right.

"You're going to deny it." He stated, matter-of-factly.

"Deny what?" She asked coyly. He flipped his tie angrily and guffawed.

"You're making a mistake."

"Oh? Am I?" She asked innocently. "Well, perhaps you should have thought twice about cheating. We victims don't exactly sympathize with cheaters very well."

"See, if you'd let me _explain_, then you'd know that's not what happened!"

"Explain what? How you slept with another woman on the day of your anniversary? How you cheated on _Rachel_, who, by the way, sounds very kinky. The sex must be _amazing."_ She laughed, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

"That's disgusting." He blurted. "And if you actually knew what you were talking about, you'd understand why."

"I don't believe I care to know." She replied, straightening in her seat again. Once more, she smoothed her dress, wondering when they would arrive. A quick look out the window showed traffic. Perfect. Just perfect.

"Rachel is my sister." He yelled, throwing his hands up once more in frustration.

"Excuse me?" She screamed back, alarmed. The divider quickly lowered slightly, and Mr. Nesmith's head peered out, along with a muttered 'everything okay?'

Annabeth replied quickly that, yes, everything was okay, and that Mr. Jackson had just told her that there was a delay in traffic. She had just gotten a tad frustrated with the poor timing. _Liar_.

The divider was begrudgingly raised once more.

"You have sex with your sister?" She seethed, once they were separated.

"No! Of course not!"

"Then you're a liar. And I _abhor _liars, Mr. Jackson."

"No! I am not!" He protested. "You don't know Rachel."

"I don't think I'd like to."

"No, I mean, you don't know that she's got a _very_ sick sense of humor."

"What?"

"Yes, she thinks it's hilarious to call up and pretend to be a girlfriend. It's her way of reminding me of my loveless work-centric life."

"You cannot be serious."

"No, it's true. She's wicked. But I love her." He stated. "As a sister, that is."

Annabeth sighed loudly, rubbing at her temples.

"And you didn't cheat on her? She's just your sister?" She asked. "Your sick, twisted sister?"

"Yeah. No cheating—she's married. With a kid. So, no, we're not involved. I don't _do_ incest."

She let out a sigh of relief, though quickly sucked it back in, reminding herself that, though it was better than knowing she had been a home wrecker, there was nothing more. It did _not_ mean that there was now a chance with Mr. Jackson. It did _not_ mean that he was now available. It did _not _mean anything. Nothing at all.

Just then, the car pulled up to the curb, and the door quickly opened, held by Mr. Nesmith. Annabeth glanced out at the bright, stone building. The building that was lined with photographers. The building that held the gala that would change her marriage. The building in which she would reunite with her husband. She _loved_ her husband. She just had to remind herself. Again, and again, and again. Because those green eyes would not get rid of themselves. Those green eyes had found their way into her mind, into her panties, and into—dare she say it—her heart. And _that_ was not okay. It was…unbelievable. Unjust. Unlawful. Everything that was preceded with un-.

Turning back towards Mr. Jackson, she looked him in the eye, deciding then and there what she had to do.

"I'm going to request that you be switched. Effective tomorrow morning. To the President's detail. I have no further use for you." She croaked hoarsely, her voice threatening to break. She took a deep, shaky breath, sliding from the car. Just as she left, though, she leaned back in, looking to the hunched over, shell-shocked man. "I believe you." She whispered, even more quietly than before. Then, she turned, nodding to Mr. Nesmith and marching down the red carpet, waving and smiling for pictures, though her heart was tearing inside. Tears threatened to spill over, but she retained them in her mascara-laden eyes.

Julian's eyes when she told him the news, though, made it all worth it. They were wide, like a child's on Christmas day. They were the eyes of a man in love. Of a man deeply, madly in love. They were the eyes of a proud husband.

They were blue, though. Blue, and the color of the clear sky. No clouds. In fact, the color alone was the perfect contrast to his reddish-blond hair. Which, per usual, was combed and cut just so. He was a handsome, proud husband. He was everything she had hoped for in a marriage.

There was just one problem, though.

The eyes were blue, not green. And _that_ made all the difference.


	7. Chapter 7

_Careful steps. She just had to be careful. She just had to ease into a walk._

"I feel like a bloated whale." Annabeth moaned, rubbing her outstretched stomach lightly. In her seventh month, the first lady's life had been consumed with the idea of this new baby. She had forgotten all other things. She had even forgotten Mr. Jackson. Well, maybe not completely.

"No, you don't." Julian smiled, pulling her into him with a gentle hand on the small of her back. His secret serviceman stood behind them. Mr. Jackson. Next to him stood Mr. Nesmith. "You're my wife, and you're gorgeous." She giggled as he leaned down kissing her cheek. Then he released her, allowing her to continue walking.

Her green silk flats hit the white marble, barely echoing along the wide corridor. Julian walked fast, and she struggled to keep up while still maintaining her balance.

"Are you all set for today?"  
"What's today, again?" He grinned.

"I know very well that you're trying to play me." She stated in a mock huff. "And I won't let you get away with it, Mr. Masterson."

"I _know_ what today is." He smirked, rubbing her shoulder as they continued to walk. "I was merely teasing."

"Well, then, how do you feel about signing your first bill into place?" She said in mock seriousness, holding an imaginary microphone to his face.

"Health Care for everyone!" He laughed, shaking his head slightly. Then, suddenly, Annabeth grabbed his arm, stopping him in his place. She met his concerned gaze with a tender one of her own.

She reached a small, smooth hand to his face, caressing it lightly. She could just barely feel the slightest amount of stubble under her fingers. He hand missed a spot shaving this morning.

"What are you doing?" He asked, whispering almost, as he smiled.

"Just…savoring this moment." She answered.

"Why would you need to savor _this _moment?"

"Well, it's just that after this, there's the trip to Sacramento, and then the banquet at the Met, and then the Women's function I'm set to host…" She listed, counting them off on her spare hand.

"I understand." He nodded, lifting her hand from his face and holding it in his own. He rubbed his larger fingers over her smaller ones. His hands were pleasantly warm. "Maybe you should keep your schedule clear after the month's over."

"Oh?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," He nodded, pretending to look as if he were thinking it over. "In fact, I think we should all take a week or two off after this month. Some alone time for just the kids and us. Maybe go to the Cape?"

"I would love that! Of course, it wouldn't be very alone, would it? We'd have to invite Emily and Billy, and their children as well. We've always vacationed with them." Her spirits slumped slightly as she thought of this. Julian never went anywhere without his brother. Bill was his closest advisor.

"Nah," He replied, shaking his head. "I think Billy'll do just fine on his own. Just us."

"It's a date." She grinned, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. It was a chaste kiss on the lips, sentimental and beautiful at the same time.

"Shall we?" He grinned, holding out his arm after their kiss ended. She slipped her lithe arm through his, and they began to walk again.

Suddenly, Mr. Nesmith stepped in front of them, blocking the hall.

"Mr. Nesmith? What are you doing?" Annabeth asked, confused. He was going to make them late! Because of what? A missed appointment? A sudden urgent matter? Anyone would know not to bother her today. Today was special. "Have I missed a phone call?"

"I am _not_ your secretary." He answered, his usually quiet demeanor changing into something else. Was it steely? Was it angry? Was it violent? Annabeth quickly decided it was all three.

"Of course, Mr. Nesmith." She said cautiously. "I'm just a bit crazed in these late stages of my pregnancy, and I trust you much more than I trust myself to remember important things." She had hoped that the mention of her baby would deter him. She had no such luck. Behind her, she felt Mr. Jackson slowly slip forward, so as not to create any sudden movements. He stepped in front of the couple, holding out his hands as a sign of neutrality.

"Look, Fred, let's not get too crazy here. These people have to get to their meeting, and it's our job to get them there. You look a little flushed. Why don't you have a seat, and I'll bring them down and have an aide bring you some water. How does that sound?"

Mr. Nesmith pulled his gun, squaring off at Mr. Jackson, who quickly pulled his gun, motioning for the first couple to get to the ground without breaking eye contact.

"Move yer ass, Jackson." Nesmith growled.

"Fred, you know very well I can't do that." He answered, unblinking.

"Jackson, I want 'em dead."

"Why?" Jackson asked back. "What have they done to you?"

"That son'a'bitch slept with my girl." Nesmith nodded to Julian. In his anger, Mr. Nesmith's deep southern accent kicked into full throttle. Annabeth had first come to like the lilt to his slow, quiet tone. Now she came to resent it.

"An' that bitch is always treatin' me like crap. The world would be a better place without that bitch and that cheater!"

Now, she looked to Julian, who still stood beside her. He quietly muttered under his breath about how it was before they fixed their marriage. She wasn't so convinced. Then. Mr. Jackson motioned to the ground again, and she slowly sat, gripping her stomach tightly, as if she could shield her baby. Julian followed suit, crouching over her and protecting her body with his. She could hear his breath in her hair, and could feel his heart beat against her back.

"These are very serious allegations, Fred. Even if it's true, I'm sure President Masterson is very sorry." Jackson answered back, maintaining his calm, even tone. The last thing he wanted was to upset the other man.

"Aw, hell, this is ridiculous." Nesmith groaned, throwing his head back and lifting his gun. Before Mr. Jackson could react, he had been shot in the arm, and was down. Incapacitated.

Nesmith surged forward, holding his gun. His arm was shaking, though. Annabeth doubted he had ever shot a man before.

Julian lifted his head, staring the man straight in the eye. Slowly, he stood, the muzzle of the gun tracking his every move.

"Mr. Nesmith. I promise, I had no idea Tracy was your girlfriend. I'm so sorry." He said, his eyes sad, though not fearful. His actions had finally caught up to him. One could only live the high life for so long. And he knew it. "Please, though, my wife, as you know, is pregnant. I would give my life to know that that baby will make it into the world safely. Please, if you have to kill anyone, choose me."

"Julian, no!" Annabeth gasped, her mouth hanging open. Mr. Nesmith took no pause in lifting the gun and pulling the trigger, sending the bullet hurtling towards Julian's stomach at 1,100 feet per second.

Julian flew back, his hands flying to his stomach. His eyes slammed shut in a heavy wince. His body fell, crumpling to the ground. Crimson blood stained his white dress shirt.

In a second, Annabeth was at his side, lifting his hand in shock, only to see the horrors of the wound. She quickly removed her scarf and applied pressure, though her hands were shaking.

"Oh, Gods, Julian!" She cried, brushing his hair back from his face. His skin was already pale and clammy, and he shook violently, his jaw hanging open, though he was unable to speak.

"An'" His voice hitched as he tried to speak. "Beth. An'Beth."

"Yes, honey, I'm right here. I'm right here." She whispered, thanking the Gods that it hadn't been a fatal gunshot. At least there was a chance of him surviving.

Then, a shadow blocked the light above them. She forced her eyes to go up, meeting Nesmith's black, shark-like eyes. And then, he raised his gun again, hitting Julian square in the chest. Right through the heart.

Julian had a spasm again, bringing a shaking hand to his chest. Annabeth held back a gag, her eyes widening. She was paralyzed, unable to move.

And then, the muzzle was lifted right to her face.

And _then_, a shot went off, deafening, black, fatal.

And Mr. Nesmith fell to the ground, a bullet having pierced right through his head, exiting through right between his eyes. A sniper shot. A master shot.

She looked past the body to see Mr. Jackson lying on the ground, his own puddle of blood around him, his good arm grasping his gun. He smiled faintly at her before letting his head fall to the marble. He had lost a lot of blood. He had passed out.

She quickly turned her attention to Julian, who had stopped grasping at his chest. He stared up at her, smiling slightly. She knew he wasn't in any pain.

Annabeth tried to hold in her tears, but failed, her lips trembling as she blubbered like a baby. He smiled up at her, even as blood began to pour from his mouth in thick geysers. Even as blood streamed from his nose in thick crests.

He smiled, grinned, almost, as his eyes fixed up at the marble ceiling, as his troubled, shallow breaths stopped.

Biting her lips to keep from crying out, she lifted his head into her lap, holding him close to her heart. She didn't even give a crap that the new, mint green dress that she had bought for the occasion was ruined. Not a single care.

She stayed that way, holding his head and caressing his hair, even as she heard frightened, shocked aides scurrying around her. They took Nesmith away. They lifted Mr. Jackson to a stretcher, carting him away.

Then, they came for Julian, and she reluctantly allowed his body to be lifted onto a stretched and covered with a plastic sheet.

She sat there, alone, on the white marble. Her legs were splayed beside her, as if she were a child, sitting on the floor. Her arms hang limply at her side, unable to find a better purpose. She sat for a good deal of time. A minute? An hour? Several hours? She didn't even know.

Then, after a while, she lifted her head from her chest. Dozens, hundreds, maybe, of reporters stood at either end of the hallway. None of them were taking pictures. None of them could turn away. They stood, I shock and awe, staring at her.

She scanned the crowd in awe, looking over many faces, some familiar, most not. And then, she came across a familiar head of blonde curls.

"Tracy." She called softly. The girl came scurrying forward, her eyes a dark red, her makeup ruined.

"Ma'am, I can't even begin to…" She broke down sobbing.

"Tracy, help me up." She held out her arm. The crying girl obliged, taking the woman by the arm and hoisting her up.

They walked past the reporters, who parted to let them pass. They turned a corner, and Annabeth finally spoke.

"Do you know where they are keeping Mr. Jackson? I believe they have him here. The doctor came by to check me, and I overheard him telling the EMTs to move him somewhere.

"Yes, ma'am." Tracy whispered. "They've got him just down the hallway. They fixed up his arm pretty quickly, since it was just a flesh wound." Annabeth remembered Nesmith's shaky hands. He had missed his target.

"How is he?"

"Um, I think they stopped the bleeding, but he's got to rest. He's very exhausted."

"Take me to his room, please."

Tracy nodded, leading Annabeth down a hallway pushing open one of the doors.

Inside, Annabeth saw Mr. Jackson lying in the bed, his arm bandaged, an IV in his wrist. He was pale.

"Feel better, Percy." She whispered, her voice catching. She slowly turned, slipping past Tracy and walking to her own quarters.

_"Percy, you better get better."  
_


	8. Chapter 8

"Well, thank you, Layla, that's so very thoughtful of you." Annabeth said, smiling weakly to the Vice President's wife. Well, actually, she would have been the First Lady now, wouldn't she?

"Dear, of course!" Layla replied, reaching a hand out for Annabeth's own. "It was the first thing Lance decided on once he got his mind in check."

"Your consideration is very kind." Annabeth replied, quietly slipping her hand from the other woman's.

"Yes, he said to me—you know what he said to me—he said that no matter what, you've always got a place to live. Y'all can stay as long as you want."

"Oh, my."

"Yes. Takes a village, you know?" The other woman smiled, glancing at Annabeth's pregnant belly.

"Yes," Annabeth broke the woman's glance, clearing her throat. "I'm sure President Masterson would be so pleased that President Johnson is taking care of our family in this…trying time."

Layla nodded with another smile—her one millionth of this afternoon alone—and sat back in her chair, beginning to chat mindlessly.

She was nervous—Layla, that is. Layla Johnson always chattered when she was nervous. Innocent things, of course, but chatter just the same.

Annabeth usually tolerated it. After all, her years in boarding school in New York had prepared her for that. They had taught her all about history, about art, about culture. And yet the lesson they had stressed the most was how to find a husband. She should have expected it, coming from a snooty preparatory school like that. It had worked, though, hadn't it?

Annabeth had met Julian during her senior year at George Washington University. She was working part time as a newspaper photographer, he as the junior senator from the state of Massachusetts.

He was her older man. He was twelve years her senior, after all. And so she remained by his side, starry-eyed and naïve, and had bagged the most eligible of bachelors in the North East. Rich, handsome and successful—her headmaster would be proud.

When Annabeth's attention snapped back, Layla was droning about all the upcoming dinner parties she would have to plan.

"And you simply _must_ give me the name of that caterer you used for the Afghani social function last year. Lance has _not_ stopped raving about that veal ever since!"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course." Annabeth answered, nodding a little too enthusiastically. She studied the other woman's face as Layla launched into another monologue about the organization process she was going through.

Layla was her only true friend—in Washington, at least. Of course, she had friends back in Massachusetts and New York. Thalia, namely, but others as well. Not that she had much time for them.

Besides, everyone around here was only trying to kiss your ass. They didn't care how your day was, or if you were feeling alright. No, it was their _job_ to care.

So Layla, a Texan, the polar opposite of her, was her only true friend. And now Annabeth wanted to shove a hot, fiery, burning lump of coal up her ass and sew it shut.

Well, okay, maybe not that, said her conscious, and yet her throbbing right temple spoke otherwise.

The Johnson's were from Texas. Just like Nesmith. And, try as she might, Annabeth would never be able to shake that accent's connotation from her mind. Sure, Layla's lilt was different. Sure, it was more civil-minded, more sophisticated. But that changed nothing.

"And you'll give me the list of committee members?" Layla was asking.

"Of course." Annabeth smiled, pushing the uneasy ball of worry down her throat.

"Oh, thank y'all so much! It means a lot that you'd be willing to help me, 'specially given the timing." She reached forwards, grasping Annabeth's hand again. Sure, it was the whole Southern custom to get up close and friendly. Sure, Annabeth usually appreciated it. Right now, though, all she wanted was space.

"Honey, you look a little tired and parched." _No, really? "_ How 'bout I grab us a pitcher of lemonade?" _Oh, please don't. _"I can get my assistant to bring us over some glasses and some ice. You'd like that, now, wouldn't you?"

Just then, Layla's secretary interjected. "Ma'am, you've got a call on line three back at your office. The florist for tonight's banquet. He says he's out of white lilies."

"Really?" _Oh, please let it be true. _"But I was just having a chat with my friend Mrs. Masterson." Layla pouted, squeezing Annabeth's hand.

"Oh, please, Layla, I more than anyone understand the workload. Please, go ahead and talk to the florist. We can talk tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" The older woman asked, already standing and walking for the door. "'Cause I know you're going through a rough time now, and Lance and I really do want to be there for you." She called over her shoulder. Annabeth pushed them on with the wave of a hand and a tight smile.

And then she was alone, for the first time since yesterday's funeral. Alone.

She looked out over the garden, dead as it was for November. The rose bushes were crisp and dried, the grass lacking it's usual green luster. She sighed deeply.

Sunset came and went, a miraculous explosion of pinks, oranges, and reds. She had to smile, knowing that Julian would have called her to the wide windows in the Oval Office, so that she could see the colors better. He loved bright colors. He had loved to paint these large, bright, sweeping landscapes. She could almost smell the odor of fresh acrylic.

Sighing, she stood, with much difficulty, and crossed the room, turning on the TV as she went. Instantly, her picture was plastered across the screen. And she looked like crap.

Her black attire made her look washed out; pale. Her hair hung limply, and it looked as if she wore too much eye makeup. But those were just the bags under her eyes. Each hand clasped those of her children; Cate on he right and Jack on the left.

Cate, at six, showed the solemn sadness that came with losing a beloved Daddy. Her brows furrowed in the inaugural confusion of death, her free hand clenched in the ultimate anger that came from having your world turned upside down.

Jack, however, showed simple confusion. Sure, he understood that Mommy was sad. He understood that lots of people were sad. He understood that something had happened with Daddy. He understood that his blue, woolen coat itched the back of his neck, where he had just gotten a haircut. Unfortunately, at three, he didn't understand much else.

No one looked very well in that picture, least of all, Billy, who had looked to have aged ten years overnight.

Just then, the door, which was slightly ajar, was knocked fully open by the slight tap of a knuckle.

There stood Billy, still wearing his black suit, and, over that, Julian's leather bomber jacket, courtesy of the military. The Presidential seal lay proudly on the left breast, right over the heart. The jacket was too big in the shoulders, clearly meant for another man.

"That's his jacket." Annabeth blurted out, before she could stop herself.

"Wha—" His brow furrowed, only to soften as he looked down at his clothing. "Oh, right, it is. I hope you don't mind, but I took it from his closet. I just needed…" His voice trailed off, cracking as it did so. His eyes cringed, as if living alone took a physical toll on him.

Billy quickly regained his composure, swallowing back the tears and putting on a brave face. He smiled, almost, but Annabeth could see right through it. After all, he was bracing himself on the doorframe, relying on it to hold him up.

"You—do you mind that I took it? I can give it back, if you want. It's not mine to take. I don't know what I was thinking." He rambling, his lower lip trembling slightly as he began to tug at the sleeves, ready to whip it off should she decide she wanted it.

"No." She insisted, bringing a palm up to halt him. "It's yours, now." She crossed the room to hug him, holding him as tightly as she could. He would always be her friend. A close ally, a bond that could not be broken.

"Hey—uh," He began, pulling away and rubbing at his face. "I heard your Secret Service agent just got released today. Johnson's giving him the medal of honor."

"Percy? Uh, I mean, Mr. Jackson?" He nodded. "Wow." She exhaled, glad he had not picked up on her slipup.

"He saved you." Billy smiled, caressing her face paternalistically.

She nodded, allowing herself to be pulled from the room, as Billy led her down the corridors and hallways, out a side door and onto a deserted street.

"Where are we going?" She asked, nervously.

"You'll find out." He answered, ominously.

And so, accompanied by a chauffeur and a Secret Service agent, the two drove a many blocks, crossing a bridge, until they reached Arlington National Cemetery.

Billy pulled her from the car, helping her down the stone pathway, past the Kennedy's graves, until they reached a freshly lain plot. With a freshly lain stone. With a freshly lit eternal flame. A little throwback to Julian's favorite president.

Billy released her hand, finally, and sunk to the ground, not caring if his knees got wet or dirty. He clasped his hands together and faced downwards, murmuring the Catholic prayers that had substantiated the Masterson family for decades.

Though she knew of the Gods, and Olympus and everything surrounding it, Annabeth also sank to the ground, with little ease, given her delicate condition. She clasped her hands as well, sending a prayer up to the Gods, rather than Jesus.

She prayed that everything would sort itself out. That She could have this baby and continue her life. That her feelings for Percy would either come to fruition or subside. That everything would be fine.

And she cried, feeling the hot tears prickle her eyes, tracing delicate pathways down her cold cheeks. She sobbed inward, making no move to try to contain herself.

And then she felt Billy's arm around her, reassuring, brotherly, platonic, everything she could have used at that moment. And she lifted her head, looking up towards the stars, and marveled at how they twinkled.


	9. Chapter 9

"Ma'am?" Came the voice of her secretary. "Are you sure you should be moving about so much, in your…_advanced_ stages?"

"Ugh, Ms. Linden, I'll be _fine_, thank you."

"Well, it's just that you're two days past—"

"—My due date. Yes, I know."

"Ma'am, are you sure?"

"Ms. Linden." Annabeth turned from the box that she was taping. "I plan to move today, and I must pack up the last of my belongings. President Johnson can't have me squatting here forever, now, can he?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Then it's settled." She waved a hand towards the door and turned back to her box. "You're dismissed." She pulled a piece of tape from the dispenser as her assistant tramped out in a huff.

Annabeth finished that box, smoothing her hands over the cardboard and sighing. She placed a hand on her belly, the other going to her back, and moved slowly across the room, where she had yet another box to pack. She sank into the plush chair, grunting with exertion.

"Mrs. Masterson?" Came a voice from the door. It was muffled to her ears by the cardboard.

"Patrice, I _told_ you to leave me the hell alone!" She snapped, lifting her head. Her gray eyes were narrowed with the ferocity that came from being a new widow that was past her due date. "Oh, Mr. Jackson…I….um, well, sorry, for…that." She stuttered, turning back towards the box to hide her blushing face.

"It's alright." He nodded, biting his lip. "I get that it's a difficult time for you."

"Yes…well….may I ask why you're here?" She lifted her head once she was sure the blush had lifted. Carefully, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear, looking Mr. Jackson up and down.

He wore street clothes, though, even without the suit, he was still impeccably dressed. He wore a crisp, clean button-down, in blue, with crisp, clean khakis. Despite herself, she was impressed, if not slightly turned on.

"I…uh, well I had hoped that we could, you know, talk." He answered, giving a weak half smile. He was nervous.

"Sure." She nodded. "You know, if you'd like, I would appreciate having you on my service. _Apparently, _former first ladies are entitled to a secret serviceman. Did you know that?" She gave a halfhearted grin.

"Actually, ma'am, I'd just like to talk to you, me being a civilian, you being a woman. If you don't mind." He added.

"Well…sure. I wouldn't mind that." She nodded again. "So long as you would consider my offer."

"Well, actually, I've got an offer of my own, somewhat…." He smiled, sitting down in the chair opposite her.

"Oh?"

"Annabeth," He began, reaching across the table to grab her hand. "I'd like to know, for certain, if this baby's mine."

"Mr. Jackson—" Annabeth pulled her hand away, scowling.

"No—listen to me—I've been wanting to come here and ask you that question for the longest time, but I haven't! I need to know!"

She would have expected anger, disappointment, hatred in his tone. But there was none. Instead, he was filled with urgency, longing, and, was that—? No, it couldn't be…but it was. He had hope. He _hoped_ that the baby was his. He was _hoping_ that she would run off with him, and they would live happily ever after. Baby makes three.

But that wasn't the case. She was a widow. She was a former first lady. The press hounded her wherever she went. And she already _had_ children. She already _had_ a life.

"I'm sorry." She said, softening her tone.

"What…?"

"The baby." She answered, smiling sympathetically. "It's not yours. It's Julian's."

"Oh…well, I mean…" He cleared his throat, as if he were holding back emotion. "I guess that makes sense…seeing as he is—I mean _was_—your husband…and all."

"Percy…" She reached for his hand. He let her take it. He let her smooth her thumb over his knuckles and calluses.

"I…uh…I had this, for you…" He said finally, reaching into his shirt to fish for something. She caught a glimpse of his scar, a red, irritated looking smear across his upper arm. She held back tears.

Then he dropped a box on the table. A velvet box. The kind that one purchased along with a ring.

"Percy…what—what is this?"

"I…I know it's soon." He began, pushing a hand through his hand and looking down. "Maybe even _too_ soon. But…I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and that baby, even if it's not mine."

"Percy, you don't _want_ me." She sighed through her nose. She hoped she didn't look annoyed, but it was hard to hide her emotions at this point. "I'm a widow. With two—soon to be _three_ children by another man. I'm flawed. You deserve a woman with better qualities. I can't accept this." She rocked forward as best she could, pushing the box further across the table, back towards Percy.

Annabeth stood, with much difficulty, and waddled a bit, towards the door. With every step came another thought, as if her mind was at war with itself. _Step._ Marry him. _Step_. He's better off without you. _Step. _But you love him. _Step._

"Well, I better see you off, now. I have some packing to do." She mumbled, holding back the tears that prickled her eyes.

Across the room, Percy stood, grabbing the box and crossing the room in strident steps. He sidled up to her, backing her up against the wall and trapping her between his two arms, her belly lying between them. His face was inches from hers.

"You—" He began, leaning forward, "Are flawed." She blinked, narrowing her eyes. "You're bossy." He leaned in, kissing her lips.

"I'm bossy." She echoed, as if in a dream.

"You're controlling." He kissed her again.

"I'm controlling."

"You're annoying." He kissed her more passionately.

"I'm a gnat."

"And you're a bitch." With this came a harder, more urgent kiss.

"I'm the queen of bitches."

"But," He raised his eyebrows, as if contradicting himself, "You're also the woman I love. And who would I be to dismiss love because of flaws? Marry me."

"Hmm," She lifted her gaze facetiously. "I don't know…should I marry him?"

"You'd be crazy if you didn't." He kissed and nipped at her neck.

"Fine, then." She turned forward, lifting his face from her neck and bringing her lips to his. "I suppose I don't really have a choice. Why don't you ask again?"

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes!" She whispered excitedly, bringing her lips to his once more.


	10. Chapter 10

With careful, elegant fingers, she swept a swatch of fabric off of the table next to her. She had already seen so many, in different colors, patterns, fabrics, and styles. None of which had seemed right for use in her wedding dress. Suddenly, a tuft of delicate lace caught her eye, and she held a sweep of cream-colored lace to her face, matching it to her skin tone. Annabeth smiled, glancing to her right as she did.

"What do you think, Penny?" She asked the gurgling baby. "I believe this is the one!"

The baby cooed in response, lifting a foot in her little, chubby hand, and bringing it to her mouth. Annabeth smiled, turning back to the mirror and studying her reflection.

Her loose linen pants were chic enough to be acceptable to wear in public, her sweater a security item, her blonde hair swept from her face in a bouncing ponytail. It was a perfectly plain outfit—one that wouldn't stand out in a crowd.

Yet, the look on her face topped it all off. The smile wasn't forced, the crinkles around the eyes were genuine, and the dimples in her cheeks were the real deal. She was happy.

She glanced over at the flower arrangement that had just been received that morning. A bouquet sent by Billy to congratulate them on their engagement. The card was worded carefully, the note short and precise. It showed the inner conflicts of a man who wanted to be a friend and a brother at the same time. It was the letter of a man in deep inner struggle.

Annabeth sighed, dropping the card and moving her way over to the baby, who she scooped up in one fell swoop. Penny giggled, flapping her hands and burying her face into her mother's shoulder.

Annabeth worked her way over to the window, where she could observe Cate and Jack run around the yard with their new yellow lab puppy. Their giggles and barks permeated the walls of the house, mixing with the late afternoon sun to create a soothing atmosphere.

Percy ran with them, tossing little Jack a foam football and petting the dog's belly furiously. He glanced up, catching her eye in the window, and the two shared a smile before both children tackled him.

Annabeth laughed, turning away and walking towards the door to join them. She paused to turn off the television set in the living room, freezing in her tracks as she caught sight of what was on the screen.

_"…And can you believe, Bob, that just a year ago today President Masterson was slain? It was the talk of the nation, an act that truly ushered in a new—"_

She turned away from the set, taking a deep breath. Of course, the thought had sat in the back of her mind all day, festering like a rotten sore. She hadn't wanted to think about it, alas, everywhere she looked, she was drawn in yet again.

What would Julian say about all this? Her marrying another man? Raising his children with this other man? Moving on? She swallowed a lump in her throat as she wondered.

He had always told her to do what she wanted, hadn't he? Had always encouraged her painting and cooking? Had always wanted her to be happy, even if he couldn't make it happen himself? He had, she decided. He wasn't a perfect man, but his heart, one might say, was in the right place.

And then there was Percy, with his sweet, mischievous green eyes, his dimpled, cocky grin, and his thick thatch of black hair that hung _just so_ over his forehead. Percy, with the strong arms that anchored her, and the voice of reason in the back of her mind. She loved him. She truly did.

She glanced down at the baby, remembering her date of birth, recalling the tears in Percy's eyes, as if she had been his own. She remembered his joy, as he held the infant, his eyes widening as he feared that he would drop her.

Annabeth chuckled to herself, crossing the room and watching out the window again as the children buried Percy in a large pile of leaves, the only remainder of him being the top of his head. She laughed.

Percy peeked his head out from the pile, grinning at her and waving her over with the beckoning of his hand.

"Come on in, the water's fine!" He laughed, patting the leaves beside him as the kids laughed at the corny joke.

Annabeth forgot the television; slipping outside and laughing as she received a warm, if not somewhat crunchy hug and kiss from her fiancé.

Penny sat in the leaves, crunching them up in her small fists and waving them in the air in spastic motions as she giggled. Jack chased Cate around the yard with a stick he had found, the dog trailing in his footsteps. Percy and Annabeth sat in the leaves, kissing each other and grinning away, as if they were teenagers.

All the while, the forgotten television set played, in memoriam, one of President Masterson's speeches. His most memorable one, politicians and historians alike agreed.

_"In this time of uncertainty and fear, it is important that we, the American people, hold values close to our heart that the founding fathers held close to theirs. We must recall the strength of the American nation, the pride that we hold when we pledge our allegiance, and the words of the Declaration that have founded the country we now call 'home.' We retain the freedom of life, the freedom of liberty, and, above all, the pursuit of happiness; the right to fulfill our dreams of doing what is right, and what is most important to us. This. I. Believe…"_

Annabeth heard these words in a low murmur from inside, sighing into Percy's neck with a bittersweet smile. She held Percy closer, breathing in the crisp scent of fallen leaves as she closed her eyes and pursued her happiness.


End file.
